


Full Disclosure

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (sort of?), Coming Out, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar Compliant, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nolofinwë Is A Good Dad, Secret Marriage, THE RUMOR COME OUT: DOES FINGON IS GAY?, look mae gets hurt but only as a plot device he's FINE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Findekáno finally talks to his father about his big secret...but it doesn't go exactly as planned.
Relationships: Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë & Fingon | Findekáno, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 26
Kudos: 114





	Full Disclosure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArvenaPeredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Blessed Hands Will Break Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244364) by [ArvenaPeredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel). 



> Happy (slightly belated) birthday, Absynthe! <3
> 
> This is completely 100% Blessed Hands fanfiction; if you're here and you haven't already read BHWBM, what are you doing?? Also referenced is [the canola oil story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125642), I'm not sorry.
> 
> This fic was born from me tearing my hair out with every new BH chapter and yelling at Finno "JUST TELL YOUR DAD" ... so I wrote that scene myself because I NEED THE RESOLUTION!
> 
> All OCs and backstory/details of Mae and Finno's marriage belong to Absynthe - thank you for letting me play around with your verse <3

"We have to tell my father," he'd said reluctantly after Írissë had sworn for the hundredth time that she was done covering for them, _yes Finno I really mean it this time, this is getting ridiculous_ —

"He's not like your father, surely you know this by now," he'd argued when his husband still protested a half-century later, residual fear prickling through their bond, and he really didn't want to pressure him but if they dragged this on much longer he didn't know if they'd have much control over _how_ his father found out—

"He _likes_ you," he'd added after another fifty years passed by, pouting in a way he knew his husband couldn't resist, and even though it terrified him, too, he was running out of excuses as to why he made such frequent visits to Himring and why he blanched every time one of the court ladies flirted with him—

"All _right_ ," his husband had at last conceded, over two centuries after they'd married in the first place, and Findekáno could've cried with relief and anxiety both but he settled for kissing him until neither of them could breathe and then fucking him senseless well into the night.

But it was supposed to be _both_ of them, they'd agreed, not just Findekáno alone, having to explain how he'd known that Russandol had fallen from his horse and needed immediate medical attention even though he'd been on the other side of the castle absorbed in counsel with the king and his lords.

(It didn't help that in his panic he'd looked his father _directly_ in the eye and all but _begged_ to be released from the meeting so he could rush to Russandol's side. The shock and dawning realization in his father's eyes had almost sent Findekáno into another anxious spiral, but he had an injured husband to worry about in the moment; his father would have to wait.)

"He'll be _fine_ ," Amdis assured him; "it's a clean break, and we've already Sung the bone back into place—this is nothing compared to how battered he was when you rescued him from the Enemy, _haryon-nînya_. He just needs rest, _without_ you hovering over him. Fretting won't get him to wake any faster."

Findekáno protested—surely he could lend Russandol some extra strength through their _fëa_ -bond?—but he remembered what Faelion had said about _discretion_ , and imagined the scolding his husband would give him about neglecting his princely duties, and eventually let her shoo him out of the infirmary...right into the calculating glare of his father.

"Findekáno," High King Nolofinwë said slowly, "I believe we are long overdue for a serious conversation."

"Between a prince and his king?" Findekáno offered weakly, staring with practiced, futile care at the spot between his father's eyes.

Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow. "Between a father and his son." He reached forward and gently cupped Findekáno's chin, forcing their gazes to meet. He only paled a little bit upon receiving confirmation that his eldest son was, in fact, wed; Findekáno couldn't help but tear up as he looked his father in the eye for the first (well, second) time in over a century.

"How long?" he asked softly, and Findekáno snapped his eyes shut, shaking himself away.

"Not here," he muttered, ready to sink into the stone floors in embarrassment. This wasn't supposed to be how it went— Russandol had promised to be beside him, in this and all things— and now—

"We'll go to your rooms," his father began, but Findekáno blushed and shook his head. Faelion was an excellent valet, but Findekáno didn't make him clean up after a night of fornication, and neither he nor Russandol had the time to tidy up that morning—there was no need to make this already unbearably uncomfortable conversation even _worse_ by having it with the evidence of their secret marriage on proud display. (It wasn't just the dirty sheets: Russandol had taken him on his desk last night, and in front of his full-length mirror, and then he'd returned the favor with his husband pushed up against the wall... Truly, no surface had been spared. Such was their passion after long months— _years_ , this time—of separation.)

"My rooms, then," Nolofinwë amended, grimacing at what was no doubt the thought of _why_ Findekáno had refused. He was probably right, too.

Meekly, Findekáno trailed behind his father, his heart pounding as he tried to think of some way out of this, but there didn't seem to _be_ one, not this time. Not even the incident with the canola oil had been so bad— _muk_ , he was in for it now...

"Sit," Nolofinwë invited as he closed the door behind him. Findekáno was trembling so much he thought his legs would've given out if he hadn't been offered a chair; so much for being _the Valiant_.

His father did not join him at his small conference table right away. First he rummaged around in a cabinet, pulling out two glasses, and then drew a wine bottle to match from a basket tucked under the foot of his bed.

"I have a feeling we'll _both_ need this before the day is through," he said drily, pouring them each a glass.

Findekáno seized the offered drink and sipped, determined not to let his hand shake. Valar, he was _terrified_ , more than he'd been even setting out for Angband or in the midst of the bloodshed at Alqualondë.

 _You did both of those deeds for Russo,_ he told himself. _You can do this for him, too._

He reached out through their bond, hoping without much hope that his husband had woken and would reach back, but he felt only the gentle smoothness of dreamless sleep. Well, at least Russandol was not troubled with nightmares.

Nolofinwë took a long drink from his own glass, letting some of the tension out of his shoulders. He stared at Findekáno, who still avoided looking him in the eye even though there was nothing to hide any longer. Findekáno tried to find the words to speak, but even with the wine, his mouth was far too dry (and his mind far too scattered) to string a sentence together.

"So," his father said at last, "you are married."

 _There_. It had been said; it was out in the open. Findekáno glanced up at him briefly and jerked his head in a sharp nod. He wished that was enough, but this was a _conversation_ , not an interrogation. Even if it sort of felt like one.

"You and..." Nolofinwë trailed off, changing tactics. "How long?" he asked instead. "I knew—I suspected, after Angamando...but I had no _proof_ , and our sisters, yours and mine, refused to say even when I _knew_ they'd pried more out of you than I could. Was that when you...confessed, or when you did the deed? You were practically inseparable, once he woke."

Findekáno laughed nervously. "Ah, um—no, actually."

One of Nolofinwë's eyebrows crept upward. "I see. So it was after, then? When he left for the North, and you...could not bear to be parted from him?"

"No," he squeaked. He'd imagined this moment a thousand ways, but in each daydream Russandol had been _with_ him, holding his hand, his _fëa_ brushing up against Findekáno's own, certain and steady and anxious, yes, but _there_. And he knew Russo would be fine, knew that he'd be awake in no time and ready to face this new future alongside him, but for the moment Findekáno was horribly, achingly _alone_ like he hadn't been since—

"The burning of the ships," he blurted out. "Before—just before then. I, we, we were _Kinslayers_ and I loved him anyway and our blood ran hot and we needed to feel _alive_ and I knew he'd have to leave and I couldn't—"

"Wait," Nolofinwë interrupted, the blood draining from his cheeks. "You—before the _ships_? And he still— And you didn't— Finno, _all across the Ice_?"

Findekáno was weeping now. He nodded his head, and now that he'd started speaking he found he couldn't stop.

"I wanted to tell you," he choked out, "so many times, I did, but I was so _angry_ with him—it was all so _new_ , and then I closed him out for _years_ —I didn't know he was a captive, in torment, _alone_ until I ran into Ambarussa in the wood and learned of all the _other_ casualties. And we'd been so used to keeping secrets already, we had for _years_ and _years_ , I was in love with him since I first met him and when I realized who he was I knew I couldn't tell anyone, _especially_ not you, and when we married—"

"Finno," Nolofinwë said, his voice strangled, "you mean...you were _together_ , in Aman, for...for _years_ —and you _married_ him before the Ice—?"

Findekáno nodded helplessly, all the strength draining out of him. All his secrets were flooding out of him like a dam had burst, and he was powerless to control the wreckage as it washed over his father and threatened to drown him in realizations.

"And you didn't _tell_ me?" Nolofinwë whispered. " _Yonya_..."

He stuck out his chin. "I don't regret it," he rasped. "Not a thing. Well—I wish we had not had to cross the Ice, but he _tried_ , Atya, he tried to stop Fëanáro, for my sake and our people's. Fëanáro—he _guessed_ , he knew Russandol and I were close and he would've _killed_ him for it if he had the chance, like he killed Ambarto."

There was a horrible pause, where Findekáno tensed and waited for his father's reaction, his disappointment, his disapproval—

"I have failed," Nolofinwë said at last, and Findekáno flinched. "I have failed as a father to you, _yonya_ —I wish you had told me. I wish you had known I would support you, and that is my failure, that you could not trust me with your marriage."

Findekáno's mouth fell open. He didn't know how to respond to that, so he took another sip (well, more like a gulp) of wine.

Nolofinwë shook his head, continuing, "I have failed because you were _right_ to keep this from me, because I only began to suspect after you returned with your husband from the Iron Hells, because I did not offer you all my love, because I let the politics of your marriage to Fëanáro's son worry me more than your wellbeing, because my best effort to help Maitimo in his recovery was not enough, because...because you worried I would be like Fëanáro and be furious at this union instead of joyous."

"Atya!" Findekáno protested, shoving himself out of the chair and leaning over the table to embrace his father, nearly spilling both their glasses in the process. "Atya, _no_ , this is as much our failing as yours—we wanted to tell you, we did, but we were afraid not only of you but of ourselves—we agreed, Atya, we decided we _would_ tell you, during this very visit to Hithlum, before Maitimo returned to Himring! But then he fell, and was hurt, and I was so afraid of losing him even though it's fine, he'll be fine, that I let it slip before I meant to and now he's not here with me and—!"

Nolofinwë hugged him tight, awkwardly moving around the table to hold him better, and Findekáno cried into his father's arms.

"I am sorry it happened this way," he whispered. "If I had been a better father—!"

" _Don't_ say that," Findekáno sobbed, "I love you, Atya, you're the best father I could hope for—!"

"I will make it up to you," Nolofinwë promised. "I will, Finno, to you and him both. I will throw you a grand celebration, if you want it—"

" _Eru_ , no!" Findekáno laughed weakly. "No, no, please keep our secret for us, Atya! I am still a prince and you are still the king and we _know_ how dreadful the politics are." He let out another sob and clutched his father even tighter. "I am so glad to let you in," he confessed, "even if Russo isn't here like we'd planned..."

"I wish things were different, for all of us," Nolofinwë murmured. "I wish you could've come to me when you fell in love and his father and I could've—I don't know what we could've done, something dramatic and messy and terrible that our father and our sons would have to clean up, but if it meant you could've been wed and happy in Aman perhaps none of this darkness and doom would have befallen us..."

"You couldn't have stopped everything," Findekáno said firmly. "Russo has gone down this path in his mind a thousand times, and it doesn't matter what changes: there are still the Silmarils, and there is still Morgoth, and there is still strife among the Noldor that none of us can erase. Things are as they are, and who knows if Russo and I would have married if something as drastic as a Kinslaying hadn't pushed us into it, and I will never, _never_ regret making him my husband."

"I am glad," Nolofinwë said, leaning back and smiling at him, looking him deeply in the eyes like no one other than Russandol had in _ages_ , "that of all this sorrow, you created some joy from it. And when Maitimo...when your Russandol wakes up, I want to congratulate you both, and have what celebration we can have. Lalwen knows, yes? We can invite her."

"And Írissë," Findekáno confessed, and they both fell silent for a moment, missing her and Turukáno both.

"I wish your mother could be here, also," Nolofinwë said quietly, his eyes misting over. Findekáno shivered: it was terribly hard to be parted from Russandol, and the distance between Anairë and Nolofinwë was many times that of Hithlum and Himring. He knew his father mourned his mother's absence, even though she was safe in Aman.

 _Finno?_ came a murmur in his mind, and Findekáno gasped.

 _Russo!_ he exclaimed, reaching out through their bond, grasping ahold of his husband's _fëa_ and sharing his joy and relief. _You're awake! How are you feeling?_

 _I have been better,_ Russandol admitted, _and I dare say I'll be giving that horse back to Makalaurë when I return, but Amdis tells me I'll be well enough to walk by supper._

" _Yonya_?" Nolofinwë asked, and Findekáno smiled up at him.

"Russo's awake," he said, and it was a blessing to not have to hide how much that meant to him. "Can we have that celebration tonight?"

Nolofinwë nodded. "Certainly. I'll drag Lalwen away from the practice courts and tell her the good news."

"Excellent," Findekáno said, and then echoed it for his husband: _Excellent, for my father wants to celebrate with us tonight._

 _Celebrate? Your—father? With us?_ Findekáno felt the realization dawn on him, sharp and blazing. _Finno—does he—!_

 _I told him,_ Findekáno admitted, and sent a wave of love his way. _It was not how we planned, but—he is happy for us, Russo. We had little to worry about._

_Finno, I'm sorry, I wanted to be there—_

Findekáno smiled, leaning against his father and speaking his next words aloud as well as in his mind: "It's alright. All's well that ends well, and tonight we put past griefs behind us."

 _I love you,_ Russandol declared. _Tell your father—thank you. Thank you so much._

"Tell him I thank him for loving my son," Nolofinwë rumbled when Findekáno relayed his words, "and that I am honored to formally welcome the son of Fëanáro into House Nolofinwë."

Findekáno laughed. "Save that for the meal," he advised his father. "If only so I can see his face when you say it."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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